


Keep Guessing

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: First Meetings, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-25 10:04:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your life was dull and uneventful. That is, until the day a green-eyed man walked in and out of it as if it was nothing.</p><p>That's when things began to get interesting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Bar

**Author's Note:**

> I just want to say that this was the most exciting thing to write ever, and I don't even know why.

It was a period in your life at the beginning of your career, when you were in your early twenties and life was a nuisance, a dull occurrence that you had to shovel through each and every day with nothing to break the cycle. You were a bartender at the club you usually DJ’d at. Both DJ’ing and bartending were side jobs for you while you waited to receive the supplies for your next robotics project. It was something to fill your time and to occupy your whirring, calculating, and constantly moving mind. It gave you a chance to see and interact with people without being separated by a softly glowing monitor, an admittedly rare event for you. If it wasn’t obvious, you didn’t get out much.

Despite the booming beats, screeching, and drunken slurs of your customers, you found this place peaceful. It all coalesced into one loud background buzz to you, allowing your mind to wander. It was nice.

“Hey, old chap! Might I be able to get a beer?”

Another patron. You turned to face him, selecting a bottle and uncapping it before you did so. You smirked as you took the young man in, amused by his barely clothed get-up of a tight shirt and the shortest shorts you had seen on a guy outside of a magazine. Along with his old fashioned, British style vocabulary, he stuck out in the crowd like a sore thumb. “Your beer, Grandpa.” You added the ending without any forethought, feeling the need to comment on the natural vintage air about him.

The man stared at you for a moment, strikingly emerald green eyes widened behind his blocky glasses. A second later, that expression was replaced with an overjoyed one, his head thrown back in what you could describe only as a guffaw, so deep and loud that it attracted the attention of half of the bar goers. You mentally steeled yourself for the questioning stares. You had never enjoyed the limelight -- even if you _were_ an arrogant, overconfident, show-boating prick. (Not to mention too articulate for your own good.)

You didn’t understand what was so hilarious.

When his laughter died with a last few childish giggles, he was left with ridiculously large grin, which forced you to take note of his prominent teeth, slightly covering his bottom incisors. “I can’t believe someone would have the gumption to make such a comment! Aren’t bartenders supposed to be courteous or be sly and give wise advice to their patrons?”

You replied instinctually, a natural rebuttal already forming before you had registered you were saying it. “Advice? Hell, if you wanted advice, I could dish that out easily. How about we begin with self-control? Flailing around and dying of laughter at some guy’s half-assed sarcastic remark isn’t exactly appealing to the eye, you know.”

You expected the normal response of a disgusted gaze, completely and totally offended by your so-called “advice,” and an angry retort of some sort, or perhaps a silent glare and for him to take his leave.

Instead, you received another round of laughter, albeit softer than the first, and for his grin to widen further, which should not have been physically possible at this point. “You,” he began, pointing at your face with the hand not holding his drink, “are an absolute hoot, sir! You might even be genuine, which is a grand feat, indeed.”

You narrowed your eyes behind your shades, despite that he couldn’t see it. You didn’t know what was so strange about him, but his reactions so far had been incredibly odd, and while you were a genius, knew every expression a person could make and why, knew everything about social interaction -- although you weren’t stellar when it came to participating in such things -- you had never seen someone as . . . weird as this guy. From his unnaturally bright and clear emerald eyes to his clothes (it was February for Christ’s sake, that was not enough clothing, even if this was Texas) to his too-cheerful personality, everything about him was foreign, almost alien, to you, right down to his accent, which was a unique mix of British, Australian, and something else you couldn’t place.

Leaning on the counter that divided the two of you, you said, “Who the hell _are_ you?” You were tempted to add “and what species were you from,” but decided that might be too off-putting than you wanted to be.

Your inquiry was met with a furrow of his eyebrows and a slight frown, a picture perfect representation of confusion -- how could anyone be so emotive? -- before it dissolved into his bright smile again. He stuck out a large, calloused hand. “Jake English, at your service, Mr. . . .” He rolled the wrist of the hand he had held out, gesturing for you to finish.

You ignored the proffered handshake, but reluctantly responded with a short, “Strider.”

The information delighted him. “Ooh, how dashing. I don’t believe I’ve ever had the pleasure of hearing that surname before. Could I perchance have the first name to complete the set?” He quirked an eyebrow up and straight-up fucking _winked_ at you. This could not be real life, Jake English was a caricature of a real person, this did not compute.

You didn’t want to tell him your first name. He was a complete stranger, and he was lucky enough to be graced with your last one and --

“Dirk.”

What have you done, why in the ever-loving fuck would you do that.

Jake had been smiling nearly the whole time you had spoken with him, yet his different levels of exuberance and special quirks of his mouth with each expression created a distinct smile every single time, and it was tempting you to draw closer, enticing you to keep a closer eye on him, lest you miss something. When you uttered your name, this new grin was triumphant, his back straightening and chest puffing out with his victory. “Dirk Strider. Now that has to be the best name I have ever heard! It rolls right off the tongue, doesn’t it? Smooth.” He nodded in approval.

“Well, with a name like Jake English, you sound like you should be some sort of action hero, out fighting villainous outlaws and shouting cheesy one liners,” you drawled, trying to sound disinterested when in fact you were paying your full attention to this, fixed on him and reveling in the feeling of having no clue what was going to happen. You had nothing to guess on, your calculations and expectations meant nothing here. How someone so open and honest could be such an enigma was unexplainable to you, yet that seemed to be the case here.

This smile was surprised, his eyes staying open a few beats too long before he blinked. “Actually, I do fancy myself quite the avid adventurer,” he confessed.

You weren’t sure how to process that. Your mouth, as always, had no problem running by itself. “What, do you travel to exotic lands and plunder tombs, or try to convince yourself that taking a walk in the neighborhood park constitutes an adventure?” You allowed yourself to smirk, already entirely convinced that the latter was the answer.

“I travel to exotic lands and plunder tombs, of course!” came his immediate response. His voice was brimming with excitement, and this smile was so bright you thought it would have blinded you had it not been for your shades.

In your incomprehension at the statement, you were silent for a few moments. Your mind refused to accept that “plundering tombs” was an actual thing that was done, and done by _him_. All that came out when you opened your mouth was: “What, really? Bullshit, those are lies.”

With that your mind settled, satisfied. He was making shit up and exaggerating his boring life. He probably went to Mexico to see some Aztec ruins or something. There was no way he had actually done what he boasted of.

He snorted. This smile was smaller, amusement and stale annoyance, as if he was accused of lying often and was tired of it. “Don’t insult my gentlemanly honor, Mr. Strider. I wasn’t making mountains out of molehills, I truly do go adventuring. I have pictures to prove it!” He began digging through his pockets -- wow, those actually had pockets, how was that even possible they were nearly nonexistent -- and before you knew it, he had produced a classic brown leather wallet and was pulling out several creased pictures.

For a second, you wanted to snicker at him, because _did he casually carry around pictures of himself posing in random places_? Then when he laid them out before you, jubilant, you were swiftly made speechless at the sights you were faced with.

You knew Photoshop. You knew when someone had faked it, even when it was done professionally. You knew this, without even examining it closely, wasn’t edited.

That didn’t mean you weren’t disbelieving.

He started to point at the individual pictures, narrating them as he went along. You blocked out most of it, scanning the images at your own pace: Jake climbing what apparently was Mount Everest; Jake wading through the plains of Africa; Jake standing on the edge of steep cliff in the middle of a mountain range, a hang glider strapped to his back; Jake brandishing two pistols in front of -- you interrupted him to point at the picture yourself.

“What the fuck is that thing?” Internally, you were much more alarmed by the creature you were face with. However, on the outside, you were calm and collected, pokerface firmly in place.

Laying dead on the ground next to Jake was a gargantuan white spider, so huge that even its head barely fit in the frame, towering far above Jake with its eight blank white eyes staring ahead unseeingly and giant mandibles larger than Jake’s torso streaked with brilliantly colored cerulean blood.

He huffed. When your gaze flickered up, he wasn’t grinning as he had for the last five or so minutes. He was upset, although you could plainly see that it was nothing serious. He pursed his lips and crossed his arms. “So now you believe me?”

“Sure,” you said, nodding down at the images. “I can see that you really did all of that. I have no idea how you got all the damn _money_ for those expe--”

Jake quickly cut you off, a new, proud smile decorating his features. “I’m wealthy.”

You paused. Honestly, this was another shock to your system, another point at which Jake English defied normalcy. He definitely did not appear the rich type. Not snobby or stuck-up, and in a normal club wearing a simple t-shirt and pair of shorts. Nothing could be more casual.

Of course, now you were curious how rich. “How much dough are we talking here, English? Are saying it’ll last a few years, or that you couldn’t possibly spend it all even if you wanted to?”

He fidgeted, his teeth beginning to worry nervously on his bottom lip. “Let’s just say, that I probably couldn’t spend it in a well over a _hundred_ lifetimes, and even if I lost all of it today, half of it would replace itself tomorrow.”

If you had less restraint, your jaw would be hanging open. In the silence, Jake laughed uneasily, his smile far too wary for your liking. Eventually, you returned to the original point of the conversation. “Okay, good to know. So yes, I believe you’re some sort of manly adventurer exploring the world. Also, you never answered my question.”

“Question?” He was so blank and pathetic, you took pity on him.

“What the fuck is that thing?” you reiterated, gesturing towards the larger-than-life spider again.

“Oh!” Instantly, he brightened considerably. “That’s where you I grew up!”

“You grew up with huge-ass white spiders? I don’t remember those existing anywhere, especially not somewhere supposedly hospitable.”

“Well, I didn’t exactly grow up in a normal place. There were many more critters than mere arachnids. There were giant bipedal crabs, gigantic sea goats, and dragons whose eyes can explode stuff!” His face was alight, reminiscent of a child on Christmas morning. It might have been cute if it wasn’t for the fact he was excited by murderous mega monsters. Most of which could not possibly be real.

“That is not possible,” you stated. “You’re fishing for attention now. Spiders, I can see. Bipedal crabs, maybe. Sea goats are a stretch, but _dragons_ _that explode objects with their eyes_? You have to be exaggerating here, that is simply not feasible.”

Surprisingly, he shrugged. “Believe what you want. I know what I’ve seen. What has tried to murder me, no less! The island I grew up on was only explored by my grandma and was extremely isolated and extraordinary. It was beautiful, but definitely not a safe place. I’ve never found anything that could hold a candle to it.”

You had no idea what to say. For all your intelligence and natural ability to smoothly break into a rap or rambling metaphor, you did not know what to say. It wasn’t that you were speechless at his words; it was merely a silence that had no meaning. It was empty, though not uncomfortable.

Jake gathered up his pictures and slipped them into his wallet and replaced the wallet in his pocket. After that, he seemed to rediscover that he was in possession of a beer that he hadn’t taken a single sip from as of yet.

Noticing this prompted you to check your surrounding for customers. Thankfully, there had been a lull in the bar, the counter having not received any new customers since you had began to talk with Jake. It was truly a blessing that you had not missed anything, except for someone gesturing for a refill when they caught your sweeping gaze. Before you walked over and filled their empty glass, you glanced at Jake, hoping that he wouldn’t leave.

That thought forced you to stop dead in your tracks half way to the thirsty woman you were about to give a refill. You retook control of yourself and strode forward again to take care of business.

As you returned to Jake, you began rationalizing, justifying, and extrapolating.

You grudgingly admitted to yourself that yes, you wanted him to stay. He was intensely unpredictable and unique, a trait which was rare in this monotonous world. You see the same personalities, same responses, same variables over and over again. It was mundane, mind-numbingly so. However, Jake English defied all you knew, every bit of data you had collected. It was intriguing.

It was a challenge.

And everyone who knew you (which were barely any at all) knew you relished a challenge.

You pulled up an extra stool and sat across from him. It was somewhat of an idiotic idea since you were on the job, but hey, if someone wanted a drink, they could flag you down with no big deal.

He spoke before you had chance to. “It’s all well and good that you know about me, but I have to say, you’re a right mysterious sort, aren’t you? Completely absurd to boot, with no common sense when it comes to conversing.” He laughed softly, gesturing with his beer as he talked. “And on a side note, what are those damnable things supposed to be?” He nodded upwards, pointing with his chin, gaze unknowingly locking with yours, although all he could see was the dark glass of your shades.

You tilted your head slightly, not rewarding him with an emotion but an acknowledgement. “I am perfectly fine when it comes to conversing. I just tend to be sarcastic and don’t bother putting up a ruse. English, are you faulting me for being myself? What would your parents think, repressing an individual’s personality?” From his immediate change in expression, you figured you had caught him. He was going to apologize for offending yo--

“That doesn’t excuse you before being such a cad! Being yourself doesn’t entitle you to be an asshole.” He scoffed, taking a swig of beer that temporarily hid his current grin, a hybrid smirk-smile.

Damn, you couldn’t come back from that, not without pulling together some backwards metaphor to distract from your lousy excuses and looking lame the entire time. Nonetheless, you would never admit to this defeat, choosing your words to avoid highlighting his victory. “I’m an asshole. Who isn’t? You definitely are, or you never would have told me how douchey I was.”

He snorted this time, rolling his eyes. “I wouldn’t have to tell you if you weren’t so indiscriminate in your jackassery. Even if it’s funny jackassery. A proper gentleman shouldn’t act in that fashion.”

You chuckled, dry and deceivingly humorless, because although you thought it was hilarious, you refused to let him know that. You didn’t see a point in further pursuing this tangent, so you answered his earlier question. “Whatever. Since you were inquiring, these are my shades, aka sunglasses, aka those things you wear to protect yourself from light.” You adjusted said shades as you explained, attempting to be as obnoxious as possible. “Or have you not heard of those? I know growing up on an untamed, insanely dangerous island was hard, but you’ve got to get acclimated at some point, dude.”

Jake guffawed again, uninhibited and unashamed of his volume. Most of it should have been drowned out in the deep, thumping beats of the current DJ’s music, but with your selective hearing, they were allowed to fade, leaving you alone in a quiet room with your acquaintance. It reminded you that you haven’t talked to anyone properly like this for months. Not face-to-face, not socially, never because you _wanted_ to. But no, Jake was an oddball, he was different. You had to pick him apart and see what made him tick -- how did he function, what was the answer?

You have repeated this far too much. You’re trying to convince yourself that is the reason for this spontaneous conversation, rationalizing why you would _ever_ want to voluntarily subject yourself to this. By defending it using science, it was reasonable, it was sane. Safe.

“What do you need sunglasses for?” He disrupted your thoughts abruptly, relieving you of the stress you were building up. You let go of your machinations, denying the need to examine and reexamine until you were left fatigued and exhausted.

“We’re inside,” he continued, “ and it’s rather dim in here to begin with. How can you see a dad blasted thing wearing those?” He should have been commenting on their shape, you knew. No one cared about their impracticality. They were concerned that they were two triangles stuck together.

You let yourself smirk, a barely-there lift of your lips. “I can see perfectly fine. Personally, these are meant to obscure rather than darken.” To avoid leaving it on that note, you proposed a counter question. “Why are you so concerned with my eyesight?”

“Oh, I’m not,” he assured you. “I just hate when one’s eyes are hidden. It drives me mad not to see them. After all, they are the windows of the soul, you know.”

You expected him to add on to that, realizing that was what you meant by “meant to obscure.” He didn’t, his smile serene and comfortable. You had a feeling he hadn’t noticed a thing.

You don’t know why you keep guessing.

“I know,” you replied neutrally.

“I bet you have bloody brilliant eyes,” he said, leaning to the side as if that would help him bypass the glass.

Your smirk vanished, uncomfortable with this turn of events. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

His grin grew. “Let me guess.”

You shrugged, and then nodded. He would never guess correctly.

“Blue?”

You were expecting that, what with your blond hair and all. You shook your head.

He appeared surprisingly crestfallen at the news, more so than he should have been. With determination now defining his features, he pressed on. “Brown?”

“No.”

“Hazel?”

“Try again.”

“Green?”

“Not even close.”

“Gray?”

“You should give up.”

“Red?”

You resisted freezing in place, memories flooding back of your older brother, Dave. He was a Hollywood hotshot and you hadn’t visited him in years. He was probably a multi-millionaire with a fancy mansion or some shit by now from selling his movies. Hell if you cared. He had had red eyes so vibrant and bright they almost shined in the darkness.

Your response was a stiff movement of the head for the negative.

“How about pink?” he suggested, winking comically as he had done earlier. “I once met a dazzling young woman with beautiful magenta eyes.”

“Do I look like a dazzling young woman to you, English?” you deadpanned, arching an eyebrow incredulously.

“No!” A peal of light-hearted chuckles followed the shout. “No, you’re much more of a rogue than that woman was. I don’t know, to me you seem to be more of a silver tongued devil than anything I’d call dazzling. To be honest, I have never met anyone such as you, Mr. Strider.”

“Dirk,” you corrected automatically, a sour taste in your mouth after being addressed as “Mister Strider.” No thanks, you’ll pass, you’d rather be called your first name.

“Dirk,” he repeated. “That means you have to call me Jake then! None of this English business you’ve been spouting. Fair?”

“Fair enough, _Jake_.” You drew out his name, emphasizing it far more than necessary. “As for my silver tongue, I think you are severely underestimating how suave I am. Not taking into account my physical prowess, I am a goddamn ninja with words. Your weak adjectives and trite sentence structure will never compare to my infallible vocabulary. Only in your dreams will you be able to achieve true greatness and beat me at this game, but who the fuck cares about dreams, they’re only the bored makings of your subconsciousness while you’re dead to the world for eight hours. In conclusion, you might say that my tongue is the purest of silver, and I do not waste my miraculous gift of gab in any way.”

Slowly, he shook his head, obviously amazed. Probably not for the reasons you had so arrogantly and somewhat sarcastically proclaimed.

“You are completely _bonkers_.”

You shrugged.

“You are _amazing_.”

You couldn’t help it: “What.”

“You have to be the most interesting person I have ever spoken with in my entire life!”

“I repeat: What.”

“Who the hell _are_ you?”

“Jake, I asked you the exact same question.”

“Is that right?”

You gave him a simple nod.

This smile was the largest, brightest, and happiest you had seen from him yet. “Well, I suppose we should get more acquainted then.”

<~~~>

Jake English was strange.

You had already known that, but it had been reinforced over and over again in the next half hour that you spoke with him.

He had a terrible and all encompassing passion for movies, loved to wrestle, and prided himself on being a proper gentleman. Despite how he spoke, he had never been in the United Kingdom for more than a few months. He was a contradicting mix of practical and frivolous, polite and rude, pampered and rugged. He was a remarkable marksman, had little to no real life skills, and loved the color blue. He was incredibly oblivious and a complete idiot.

In other words, he was the best person you had interacted with.

Fascinating, capricious, good company, utterly impossible to deal with at times, and handsome as well.

You wondered if this was what having a friend felt like.

<~~~>

“Golly Dirk, is it really midnight already?”

You looked at the small clock you kept underneath the counter. It read seven minutes after twelve. “It looks that way.”

Right on cue, his mouth stretched open in a wide yawn. “I’m awfully exhausted. I better get going soon.”

Something sunk in your stomach. You swallowed your disappointment and pretended that nothing was wrong. “Have a safe trip. If you get mugged, you’re gonna have to defend yourself, are you prepared for that?”

“Don’t you remember that I’ve killed hundreds of adversaries, including monsters the size of _planes_?” He was definitely tired, his smile half the size it used to be and his eyelids drooping. His voice was gaining an thick-ish quality.

He couldn’t stay conscious after midnight? What a wimp.

“I’m sorry to break this to you, but your fellow humans have guns to use against you, unless you’re going to whip yours out of thin air. Do you have the ability to do that?”

“No . . .,” he admitted, pouting.

You clicked your tongue. “See? I told you, dog. Watch out for the Neanderthals out there.”

He nodded, stumbling off his seat. He turned to you and stuck out his hand. “It was a pleasure talking to you, Dirk.”

Unlike when you first met him, you accepted the handshake. His grip was rough and firm.

“You weren’t too much of a bore either, Jake.”

He flashed you a final smile and walked away, almost immediately being swallowed by the crowd. You didn’t have a view of the door, so you don’t know if he tried to turn and wave to you one last time.

The relative quiet of your conversation faded, the noise of the club seeping into your spectrum again. As if sensing that you no longer had company, several people began heading to the bar. You sighed and set about to your work, feeling oddly hollow and listless, your mind still filled with images of Jake and the sound of his voice and everything he had told you.

You never did find out what a billionaire (most likely _multi_ -billionaire) was doing alone in a Houston club. You supposed it made no difference. Chances were that you would never see him again, not without a number to call or an address to find.

You catch yourself staring at the seat where he had sat several times throughout the night until your shift is over. Not once during that night does he leave your mind.

You don’t think you’ll ever forget about him.


	2. A Legend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is continuing! I truly love this story, I really do.  
> Jane is very out of character in this chapter because she is in business mode. Remember, she's b33n influenced by the Batterwitch her entire life and then thrust into this position of power that has a reputation of being ruthless and cruel.

It’s been months.

It was idiotic to say that one chance meeting with a buck-toothed billionaire-adventurer changed everything for you, because it really didn’t. He didn’t alter your entire world; his memory didn’t inspire you to turn your life around. You still didn’t speak to anyone that you didn’t absolutely need to, and you holed yourself up in your apartment for months at a time as soon as your company distributed your robotics parts to you. You were already working on your project, spending several nights programming what would be its ultimate code. Many of those nights you thanked whatever deity that might exist that the basic code was mostly the same as the one from your previous project. It saved you a shitton of tedious work that you were not looking forward to doing and that unto itself was the best thing ever.

It’s when you begin thinking things like _that_ you know you are not conscious enough to continue anymore.

You were constantly exhausted with these extremely late nights, and the work was not the most satisfying, not yet, but you were content. You reveled in your solitude, enjoyed the privilege of doing what you wanted whenever you wanted, and played music so you wouldn’t be suffocated by the silence. You handled your business through emails if you could manage it, and dragged yourself outside when your superiors demanded a physical meeting to discuss further plans, projects, and predict how long your current creation would take. You tried to stay as quiet as you could be, your natural snark disappearing when you were surrounded by executives of a company you couldn’t give less of a shit about.

All you wanted to do was build machines, play video games, troll a couple forums, strife with your person bot, Sawtooth, mix some beats, and most of all, be left _alone_.

Except . . .

Well, maybe you could bear to live with _some_ company, or, to be more specific, you wouldn’t mind having _Jake_ as a companion.

It has been months, and you have seen neither hide nor hair of the stranger since that fateful night at the bar, but you have far from forgotten about him. Frankly, with each passing day you continued to build him into something greater and greater. He’d become some sort of dorky Superman that would -- and this is what you would never admit to anybody if you had somebody besides Cal to admit it to -- ride off into the sunset with you. Or at least hang out with you and be your best bro.

Really, at this point, just seeing him again for a moment would be enough, because he’s barely a real person anymore. You’re almost convinced he’s a complete figment of your imagination, because _what kind of person was a billionaire and an adventurer_? It continued to baffle you, and it was more surreal to think about it now than when he told you that night.

If you couldn’t have him as a friend, could you at least have him as a test subject? By this point, you were convinced he held the answers to every question you’ve ever had in your entire life.

With basically nothing to do except run yourself ragged with coding, Jake English was the only thing that could be on your mind. Seriously, what else was there to contemplate, your decoration style? The carpet?

Your life was subtly different because of him. It was the same, nothing he had said or done had fully affected you, but instead of your life riding out in a single direction, there was this constant second path available, if you so chose to pursue it.

This path was labeled “FIND HIM” in large block letters, and past that everything was cloudy and mysterious, a blank and unknown void that could hold anything. It was an opportunity, it was a change, it was friendship, it was a leap of faith and no guarantee that it would turn out alright. There were so many possibilities down that road, experiences you probably wouldn’t have if you didn’t take it. It was uncertain, a variable you couldn’t calculate. It was a risk.

A risk you did not wish to take.

No matter how wonderful and perfect you amplified him to be in your head, there was a healthy chance that it would all come crashing down on you, and that he probably wouldn’t remember you in the first place. It might sound childish, but you would rather imagine he was your friend than actually go out, try, and possibly fail at becoming his friend. Your imagination was vivid. You could get by. It wasn’t as if he was the most important thing in your life, only the most important human in it. That made sense, because everyone else you knew were executives and bosses and acquaintances that you disliked. And your brother, but you still gave less than two fucks about him. He wasn’t around, and he hadn’t been for a long while.

It’s been months. You sat at home, remembered Jake English when you got bored, and began to outline the blueprint of your creation’s body. (To be honest, this project was taking than you had anticipated and you were not sure why.)

<~~~>

You woke up at seven o’clock despite having fallen asleep at four in the morning. You’re dead on your feet, everything in a blurry haze and refusing to fall into focus. You never got any shuteye these days, although you never set an alarm and never had an appointment. It could take thirty minutes to three hours for you to exit this lethargic state and become a functioning human being, which frustrated you to no end because it wasted a quarter of your day, and also because you were _never_ like this. For this sudden onset case of laziness to take hold is one of the worst things to happen to you.

It takes a whopping four hours for you to recover this morning, and are left with the parting gift of a pounding headache. You are not feeling charitable.

When you checked your email, you found a new message titled in all capitals: “MEETING.”

You grimaced and sighed, letting your head thunk down onto the keyboard. This could not be happening. You were _not_ in the mood for this bullshit. Of all days, this was not the day to be having a pointless meeting.

After a few minutes of sulking, you opened up the message.

 

**Strider, you better get gussied up and head the fuck down here. You have attracted the attention of Crockercorp. and the Heiress herself wants to speak to you, so if you don’t show up I will personally SKIN YOU ALIVE.**

**I’m not kidding around this time, this meeting is the biggest event in the entire history of the company, and there is no way you are going to screw us over.**

**She’s arriving at two p.m.**

**If you’re not there, we are kicking your ass to the curb.**

 

You stare at the screen for a minute or two, reading the message over again to make absolutely sure you weren’t hallucinating.

Crockercorp. was one of the largest corporations in the world. They were far advanced in every field, their fingers in all the metaphorical pies, and their technology department was their shining star, so magnificent you could gush for hours over how amazing their work was. It was every person’s dream to work there, where only the toughest of the tough, the best of the best, survived and thrived. It was among the highest honors you could receive.

And they were interested in you.

 _You_.

The Heiress to the entire company wanted to speak with _you_.

You were numb, shocked down to your core. You were honored and overwhelmed and comprehending of it all. If it wasn’t for your headache and that you couldn’t physically understand any of what you had read yet, you would’ve been grinning as if you were possessed.

Then you checked the clock at the corner of the monitor. It read 1:37.

 _Holy shit you needed to get your ass in gear_.

This was literally the only time you cared about punctuality and you were going to be _late_.

 _Son of a_ _fuck_.

Styling your hair took about seven minutes, dressing in your best and only suit took two, flashstepping down the stairs took half of one, and jumping into your car and racing to the company building took fifteen. You arrived at the usual meeting room within a minute. You paused outside to check your phone -- 2:03, no no no no this could not be happening _dammit_ \-- and fix your hair. Jesus, you were such a fucking woman, why must you be so picky over your appearance, you just end up looking more like a douchebag than you did before.

And now you’re rambling, you’re stalling for time, and holy fuck just _go in the room_.

You took a deep breath and opened the door.

The first person to meet your gaze was your main boss, the guy who had sent you that pleasant email. He was a tall, bulky man with stress issues and often had lapses in temperament. If you did something wrong, it was usually him who jumped to rub your nose in it. He was a large part of the reason why you loathed conducting business with this company.

“Hello, Mr. Strider,” he began tightly. You resisted the urge to curl your lip at hearing your name mangled by his scratchy voice. Then he gestured to his side and all revulsion was replaced with dread as you were faced with _her_. “Meet the Heiress of Crockercorp.”

Everyone knew her. Her short, black hair that curled slightly and framed her round face, the rather short, unintimidating stature, and the cyan blue eyes that could tear you apart without trying.  Her hands were folded politely in her lap and her posture was that of royalty, stick-straight with her shoulders held back, and the curve of her lips was friendly. Despite the outward pleasantry, every single thing about this woman screamed danger. Physically, she was round edges and innocence, but within moments of being in her presence, you were already ready to bolt. This persona was more frightening in person than it was in pictures, and it made you uncomfortable.

Her gaze flickered from you to your boss. “Please, there’s no need for formalities.” They switched to you again. The blue was so piercing that you wondered if you forgot your shades in your apartment. It would explain why you felt as if you were being dissected. “Call me Jane.”

Your boss glared at you, jerkily gesturing at the seat across from them, and then turned to her again with a stiff, fake grin. “Miss Cro-- um, Jane. We’re deeply sorry for Mr. Strider arriving late, I promise he--”

She raised her hand for silence. “I promise it is completely fine. We had just sat down as he entered, so you can barely call him late at all.”

Some of the tension left your shoulders. You were intensely wary of her, feeling too vulnerable, too readable, but if she was sticking up for you, she must have been okay on some level.

When you sat down, she fixed her attention on the businessmen surrounding her, who were eager to catch every movement she made for fear of disappointing her. “Might I have a moment alone with Mr. Strider?”

They glanced at one another, obviously reluctant to be leaving. Your boss even graced you with another heated glare, as if you were cause of every problem he had ever had. They began to rise and shuffle out when she raised a hand. They instantly halted, staring at her intently. “I would like to inform you that if you review any of the footage in this room, Crockercorp. will be redacting any possible support that we might have been disposing.”

They gulped in unison and hurried out the door to escape her cruel smile.

The door closed.

You were alone with the Heiress.

You tried to slouch casually, and idly wondered why you were so worried about impressing her if all you were going to do was act as if she didn’t fluster you.

“Mr. Strider,” she started.

You were quick to derail her, already aggravated by being called that so many times. “Please,” you said, imitating her expression and tone from earlier, “there’s no need for formalities. Call me Dirk.”

She did not chuckle, only tilting her head slightly. “Clever,” she stated with that same paralyzing grin. “I’m glad we’re getting off to a good start.”

“I wouldn’t call this a good start, but whatever floats your boat.” You shrugged. “So tell me, what does Crockcorp. want with my divine entity? Come to leave an offering and pray that I won’t strike you down?”

She is unnervingly unaffected by your words, steepling her fingers and leaning towards you. You fidgeted minutely under her scrutiny. “I have come to deliver an offer, as you could have already guessed.”

“What sort of offer?”

Instead of answering, she decided to go on her own tangent. “Crockercorp. sees great potential for you, Dirk. You are an up-and-coming prodigy, a certified genius, a master in your field, and extremely young to boot. What is most amazing to us, however, is that you have had no formal training. None at all. You have never studied robotics or computer programming, let alone attended a university, which is incredibly intriguing considering the wealth you are attached to. These achievements are amazing unto themselves, yet you go above and beyond the extraordinary after that as well. While you are as talented as any veteran, if not more so, you have not sought fame or fortune. You have not scrambled for recognition and have settled for this mediocre company rather than somewhere that could reward you with millions. But as we have already established, I know you care nothing for money. What I offer would be much more valuable to you.”

You raised an eyebrow above your shades to show your curiosity.

“Competition.”

Her voice, you could equate it to the stainless steel of a katana, cutting and confident. She was drawing you in, a helpless moth to a flame, a bird fascinated by a shiny object, lulled by her words like the victim of a hypnotist. She was a temptress with that coaxing tone. She was the devil convincing you it was in your own interest to sell your soul.

Except.

“You crave to further your expertise, don’t you, Dirk? To test your mettle against others, prove that you are what you claim to be: the best of the best. We wouldn’t even need to give you publicity. We could hide your name under an alias so all you receive is the knowledge, the satisfaction, of proving yourself.”

She abruptly broke the spell, sitting back in her chair, poised as ever. “There is only one catch.”

Oh shit, here comes the part where she grows the horns and demands you become her slave.

You showed no emotion. “What is it?” you asked, as flippant and nonchalant as you always were. It didn’t matter she could probably see right through your facade, she was not going to get the satisfaction of breaking it.

“Before you sign any of sort of contract with me, you have to contact Skaianet.”

Suddenly, you understood jack shit.

Flabbergasted, all you could reply with was a “What the hell for? Aren’t they your nemesis or whatever?”

“Not quite,” she hedged.

You were in no mood for nonsense, the lingering lethargy from this morning still deep in your bones and making you just a bit on edge. “Care to share your information with me?” you snapped, your inflection still nonexistent and your tone level as always but your delivery curt.

“Honestly, I fully expect you to be joining one of us, either Skaianet or Crockercorp. Both positions are open and welcome to you, and both represent a unique challenge. It is now a decision of personal preference, one only you can make. Because you will be joining us, I can divulge some information that usually isn’t privy to the public.”

You bristled at the assumption she had made on your behalf, but decided to hear her out.

“You see, while Crockercorp. and Skaianet are fierce competitors, we are also essential components to each other. Without Skaianet, Crockercorp. would not be the powerhouse it is today, and without Crockercorp., Skaianet would have died off because of their unorthodox nature. With no practical company beside them, Skaianet would not make their quotas, and without the eccentricity of Skaianet, Crockercorp. would not have made half the innovations the public ooh and ahh over today. In business, we keep a chilly distance between ourselves, but in truth we are nearly family to one another. The current owner of Skaianet has been my friend since we were toddlers, if you can believe it.”

To your immense surprise, the smile softened a degree at the mention of her friend. This was beginning to feel surreal. The Heiress didn’t have _friends_.

“So before you agree to my proposition, you should contact Skaianet’s owner. He’ll no doubt be thrilled to meet you. He’s always been fascinated by robotics and technology, and meeting an expert of your caliber would make his day. He’s not the most business savvy individual but has a lot of charm to make up for it. You’ll like him; most people do.”

You could barely take in this information before she was pushing a slip of paper towards you. “Contrary to his interests in technology, he barely has any idea how to use it most of the time and hates the detachment of email. If you want to reach him, you’ll need Pesterchum.” The word sounded absurd coming from her mouth, and you intended to make a quip about it, but when your eyes landed on the paper you were too dumbfounded to find a response. “Along with his handle, you might as well have mine as well. I’m gutsyGumshoe. He’s golgothasTerror. I expect you’ll contact us soon?”

You nodded slowly.

“Good. I have to catch my flight back to Washington, but I will have to make a future appointment with you so we may get better acquainted.”

“Cool,” you replied numbly.

She rose from her seat, a practiced grace in her movements. “Goodbye, Dirk.”

“See you on the flip side.” You managed to smirk self-assuredly at her as she exited, but it fell as soon as she was gone.

You stood from your seat and pocketed the paper she had given you. You didn’t particularly want to endure the interrogation your bosses were going to grill you with, so you flashstepped out the door and down the hallway, slowing down when you arrived at the elevators. You were surprised not to find the Heiress waiting there as well since she had left only a moment or two before yourself.

She was a mysterious one, you thought.

<~~~>

When you got home, you spent the rest of the day staring at the bright blue ink on the paper she gave you. You marveled at the fact you had met her, met the _Heiress_. Jane Crocker. And one day, you were going to meet her again. It filled you with a sense of dread but also an unexplainable lightness.

Maybe it was because you hadn’t “gotten acquainted” with anyone since early February on a certain evening in a bar.

In addition, you were going to meet the owner of Skaianet. Skaianet! It was insane to consider, but it was your current reality. You were going to sit down and speak with two of the most powerful people in the business world. It was absolutely mind-boggling.

What had become of your life?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would anyone like to hear more about the background of this AU?


	3. A Conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are the best, thank you for all your support so far!  
> *Have I mentioned that pesterlogs are extremely fun to write?  
> *However, if anything is wrong with said pesterlogs I'll be working to fix it within the hour.

\-- timaeusTestified  [TT] began pestering golgathosTerror  [GT] \--

 

TT: Hello.

TT: Are you the owner of Skaianet?

GT: Why yes i am!

GT: Are you the bloke jane was warning me about?

TT: The badass robotics genius? Yeah, you could call me that.

GT: Haha how delightful! I have been absolutely giddy waiting for you to contact me.

GT: Its a pleasure to meet you especially after all the wonderful things jane has told me about you.

TT: The Heiress has actually told you wonderful things about me?

TT: That’s a surprise.

TT: I mean, I met her yesterday but I had no idea I had such a profound effect on her.

TT: I’m honored.

GT: Oh dont call jane the heiress she hates that title. Really formal and stiff you know?

GT: And i wouldnt say you had a profound effect. You shouldnt feel too special. Jane is a stand up gal and all but shes far softer than the media spins her to be. She doesnt like to be critical with others.

TT: Dude, I was being sarcastic. Guess I’m not layin’ it on thick enough.

TT: Do I need to exaggerate all my mad subtleties for you to catch up on the uptake.

GT: Perhaps you should. Im afraid i can be...

GT: Thick-headed at times.

GT: A frightful flaw for a gentleman such as myself but one i have had to cope with ever since i became aware of it in my boyhood.

TT: And suddenly you’re informing me of your entire life’s story. If anything, shouldn’t I be the one spilling?

TT: After all, I am apparently going to join the Skaianet-Crockercorp. family.

GT: Well if youre joining the family you cant be using terms such as that.

GT: Youd be in the english-crocker family.

GT: I guess it just depends on which clan would appeal to you the most.

GT: Which will it be old chap?

TT: Actually, I’d prefer to bone up on these different clans before making my ultimate decision.

GT: What would you like to know?

TT: For starters, how do each of your companies operate?

GT: Erm...

GT: Operate?

GT: Dont they operate as every other company does?

GT: Signing contracts and making patents and conducting business as all companies do?

TT: No.

TT: Every company has their own set of rules. They might be similiar but the procedures and atmosphere of each are usually unique. Especially with prestigious companies like Crockercorp. and Skaianet.

GT: Oh.

GT: Um.

GT: *pulls at collar*

GT: I dont think im the right chap to be talking to then.

GT: I dont know about any of that.

TT: But you’re the owner, aren’t you?

GT: Of course I am!

TT: Then what the fuck. How do you not know?

GT: Well...

GT: I dont exactly...

GT: Involve myself with all that business mumbo jumbo.

TT: Business mumbo jumbo.

TT: These are the words I have read.

TT: You control the entirety of Skaianet and you don’t ‘involve yourself with all that business mumbo jumbo.’

TT: You are joking.

GT: Sadly i am not!

GT: You see my grandma owned the company before passing it on to me but i wasnt ace with finances and proper planning so when everything was put into my hands it went down the shitter.

GT: It was under unanimous consent that i passed the responsibilities onto someone a tad more knowledgeable than i.

TT: Who did you dump these responsibilities onto? The Heiress?

TT: She did warn me you weren’t the brightest crayon in the box, but I suppose I put too much stock into you.

GT: Hey i told you to quit it with that heiress talk. Jane gets terribly irked when people refer to her as that.

GT: And i am not dumb and jane would never tell you that! She is too much of a darling.

TT: She might not have said it in quite so many words, but the conclusion is clear no matter how you word it.

GT: Jumping jehosaphat this is a dreadful first conversation.

TT: I’ve had worse.

GT: Perhaps we should start over?

TT: Nah, I like the madness we have gotten ourselves into.

TT: Let us continue on this tangent.

TT: The Heiress told me you have known each other since you were young, overprivileged brats.

GT: I said not to call her the Heiress!

TT: If you think I am going to call her Jane you are mistaken, Mr. Skaianet-Owner-Guy.

GT: Why the hell not?!

GT: And that’s not my name either!!

TT: I am not among the Heiress’s friends. Calling her Jane would feel as if I am crossing some personal boundaries.

GT: I give you permission to cross those boundaries.

GT: Hearing her called the heiress is unnerving. She isnt a robot.

TT: Are you sure?

TT: I’m almost completely positive that the demon I met yesterday could have easily been made of metal, what with that cold-blooded grin and the constant monotone of superiority.

GT: Devil fucking dickens she is certainly not of any robotic persuasion! Shes a perfectly nice sugar-sweet young woman.

TT: Robotic persuasion?

TT: Can you tell me how anything can be of a robotic persuasion?

GT: Er i suppose that wasnt the best phrase to use.

TT: I suppose cyborgs or those with high-tech prosthetics could be described with those words.

GT: Jane isnt a cyborg!

GT: She definitely hasnt lost any limbs so she would have no need for a prosthetic.

TT: Not a cyborg?

TT: Oh come on, there must be an unspeakably terrifying secret that you’re not telling me of.

GT: She doesnt have any secrets that i know of.

GT: She doesnt keep much hidden.

TT: I’m sure.

TT: Mr. Skaianet, I am unconvinced she does not possess these secrets. I am convinced, however, that you probably have never noticed this.

GT: Preposterous!

TT: Hey Mr. Skaianet, guess what.

GT: What?

TT: I am tired.

TT: Throughout this entire conversation, I have barely been able to keep my eyes open, and half of the magic that is flowing from my fingertips is pure, sleep-addled shit.

TT: Truthfully, I can barely remember half of everything that we have no doubt discussed.

GT: Okay now i *KNOW* youre fucking with me!!

TT: I’m being serious.

TT: You’re wounding my womanly pride, Mr. Skaianet.

GT: Wait wait youre a woman?!

TT: No.

TT: What you just glimpsed was a rare sighting of the majestic creature known as Sarcasm.

GT: Oh bugger...

GT: I dont think this is going anywhere quick.

TT: Not really.

GT: Youre being a difficult bastard.

TT: This is true as well.

GT: You say youre tired?

TT: I did fall asleep about three hours ago, but obviously that was short-lived, seeing as I’m talking to you.

GT: You woke up and decided that pestering your maybe future boss chum was a good idea?

TT: Basically.

TT: Trust me, I have done far more idiotic things with much less reasoning behind it.

TT: Looking back, I guess I could be a little more polite.

TT: But I’m starting to care a bit less. You know, since you’re going to meet me some day, apparently, so might as well brace you for the headache that dealing with myself tends to be.

TT: At least you will be pleasantly surprised when I behave myself and act rational.

GT: I can always appreciate honesty.

GT: Its back-handed trickery that gets my goose.

TT: Even my personal brand of honesty that you have been sampling for the past half hour or so?

GT: It is startling ill admit. Rather unorthodox and absolutely backwards to me.

GT: But i still am a firm believer it would be worse if you had lied to me.

TT: I don’t believe that, but I’ll let it slide for now, Mr. Skaianet. It’s a good enough alibi to secure your motive, as moronic as that motive might be.

GT: Hey!

TT: Are you already going back on your boypledge of enjoying my honesty?

GT: That means nothing. I dont have to like what youre saying to accept it and prefer it over some blasted fabrication.

TT: I see.

TT: I think I’m going to try to pass out. It hasn’t worked thus far, but you never know, I guess. Maybe this will be my lucky day.

GT: Oh.

GT: Goodbye mister...

GT: I dont believe you ever gave me your name.

 

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering golgathosTerror [GT] \--

 

GT: Damn it all you must have pottered off to bed.

GT: Well i hope youre able to sleep!

GT: *tips hat and strolls away*

 

\-- golgathosTerror [GT] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \--

 

<~~~>

 

\-- golgathosTerror [GT] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \--

 

GT: Greetings! Are you by any chance awake?

TT: You can see that I’m online, can’t you?

GT: Yes.

TT: Trust me, if I wasn’t ready to face the shitstorm I’m sure this conversation will be I wouldn’t have bothered logging in.

GT: Did you ever catch any luck with your slumber?

TT: No.

TT: I haven’t slept a wink since we last spoke.

GT: Gee wilikers thats quite the passage of time!

TT: What, a day? Man, that is nothing. If I don’t sleep for a week or two, then call me and gush over my fragile health. Contrary to your beliefs, I am not a delicate flower that can’t handle some rough treatment or sleep deprivation.

GT: How do you stay conscious and coherent? If i dont get my full eight hours im a mess.

TT: It’s been a long while since I’ve slept the regular eight. I suppose my body is used to the abuse. It takes what it gets and makes due.

TT: What a hardy little trooper.

GT: Golly if its so much of a botheration why do you put yourself through it.

GT: Go to bed!

TT: It’s not as simple as that. I wish it was but it isn’t.

TT: I sense you are going to ask me to elaborate on that.

GT: Damn mind reader.

TT: I am hardly a psychic. It’s called basic deduction.

GT: Dont get off topic!

TT: I don’t force myself to stay awake for days. My work is abhorrent and spectacularly tedious, and if I so chose I could work myself to the bone doing it, but I don’t.

TT: The problem is that my mind apparently does not wish to preserve my sanity or take care of its host. I will lay down and lie awake for hours with my eyes closed trying to fall asleep. When I do manage this Herculean feat, I stay in that blissful state for a few hours, tops. Four hours if I’m lucky, with two being the average.

TT: That may not sound extreme, but two hours every other night is a harsh fucking blow.

TT: So yeah, that’s what’s happening in my life at the moment.

GT: Im sorry man. Sounds a right nightmare. :(

TT: It’s not that much of a big deal.

TT: Fatiguing?

TT: Yes.

TT: Exhausting?

TT: Yes.

TT: Is it unbearable?

TT: No.

TT: I’m perfectly fine.

GT: I dont believe any of that malarkey for a moment.

TT: Oh well.

TT: I didnt begin talking to you to narrate my tear-jerking life story.

TT: I did it for a job.

TT: Because the motherfucking Heiress of Crockercorp. instructed me to.

TT: If she had not, I wouldn’t be having this conversation and enduring this shit.

GT: ...

TT: ...

GT: So I have been... a bother to you? I didnt wish to appear as such...

GT: I mean youre a complete goofoff and an enigma of a scoundrel but...

TT: ‘An enigma of a scoundrel.’ That doesn’t make sense on any acceptable level, and I guarantee you are cobbling together random antiquated linguistics and calling it English.

GT: Shhh!

TT: Hmph.

GT: But while youre rough around the edges i bet if someone polished you up youd be a regular diamond!

TT: Being called a regular diamond almost sounds like an insult.

TT: Aren’t I super special snowflake to you?

GT: I told you to shh!

TT: I never listen to orders, Mr. Skaianet.

GT: What im trying to say is that you appear to be a good guy and a capable worker even though you have your problems.

GT: Like your sleep thingamabob.

GT: And personality wise youre pretty incomprehensible.

TT: These are definitely insults now.

GT: And you never LET ME TALK.

TT: Ooh, breaking out the capital letters.

TT: Am I getting under your skin?

GT: Come off it!

GT: Thats another thing! Youre always making those sly comments as if i wont read them!

TT: I know you’ll read them.

TT: That’s why I take the time to type them out.

TT: This isn’t some sort of creepy interactive diary.

GT: Those last two sentences are pure bull and therefore i reject them.

TT: Well fuck you too.

TT: If you suppress my creativity I will shrivel up and die.

TT: How will you ever live with yourself knowing you caused that.

GT: WHAT I WAS TRYING TO SAY.

GT: Is that i hardly know you.

GT: And as time goes on im starting to think i dont want to!

GT: But youre not the worst person someone could meet.

TT: Inspiring words.

GT: Have you read a single word ive typed?!

TT: Does skimming count?

GT: Fuck you!

TT: Calm your tits. Yes, I have read everything you have written.

TT: You’re babbling about how I’m a total douchecanoe but not the shittiest of all the canoes.

GT: That was lame.

TT: Yeah it was.

TT: I think that’s the sleep deprivation speaking for me.

TT: Actually.

TT: I think I might be about to crash.

GT: Oh.

TT: Hey, I’ll chat you up in a few hours. We can continue this riveting round of banter.

GT: Sounds good enough for me.

GT: Good night.

GT: Er morning.

TT: Wish me sweet dreams.

TT: For the irony.

GT: Haha are you serious?

 

\-- timaeusTestified  [TT] ceased pestering golgathosTerror  [GT] \--

 

GT: Sweet dreams i guess!

 

\-- golgathosTerror [GT] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \--

 

<~~~>

 

\-- timaeusTestified  [TT] began pestering golgathosTerror  [GT] \--

 

TT: And I have risen again, refreshed from my hibernation.

GT: Youre already up?

TT: Obviously.

TT: I’m speaking to you, aren’t I?

TT: Have I unknowingly become a specter in the last few hours?

GT: Jeez its been an hour and a half!

GT: How can that be a healthy amount of shuteye?

TT: Never claimed it was.

TT: And half of that hour was spent awake, by the way.

GT: That is very worrisome...

TT: Look.

TT: You’re not my mother.

TT: Well, to be truthful I never had a mother, not that I remember, so I wouldn’t be sure if you were acting like one. Let me rephrase:

TT: You’re not my brother.

TT: So stop acting like it.

GT: I dont take orders either mr. genius guy!

GT: Who i still havent learned the name of!

TT: You know what these conversations have been lacking?

GT: Less snarky backtalk?

TT: Nice guess but no.

TT: I believe that throughout this entire time, we were supposed to be talking business.

TT: In fact, I brought up in our last log that the only reason I am here in the first place is to conduct said business.

GT: Right.

GT: We got preoccupied huh?

TT: Hm.

TT: More like I was bored and tired and needed an outlet for my bullshit.

TT: I guess your explanation could make sense as well.

GT: So business.

TT: I distinctly remember that you confessed you had no idea what sort of business went on in Skaianet.

GT: Kind of?

GT: I dont know procedures and that gobbledygook.

GT: If i handled that nonsense then the company would be going under.

TT: Then who does handle it?

GT: A wonderful woman named aradia megido. Her family has always been close to mine almost as much as the crockers. Shes a funloving person. A shame shes stuck in a dusty ol office!

GT: As younger children we used to have rip snorting adventures together.

GT: Janey never really appreciated things such as the thrill of the hunt or the adrenaline rush of running for your life in a hostile land.

TT: A hunter.

TT: That’s exactly what the world needs, another maniac killing hundreds of beasts because it is apparently a sport.

GT: I dont kill the rare ones! I love creatures! The only time i fight back is if i push my luck a bit too far and my back is against a wall.

GT: No offense but if its going to be me or them i would choose me.

TT: I bet you push your luck too far on more occasions than you’d like.

GT: Perhaps.

TT: Thought so.

TT: However, back to business.

TT: If you don’t know procedures, then what do you know?

GT: I know about people. I am eager to meet any bright mind and learn about their achievements and the doodads they can create. Especially technology. Fascinating stuff.

GT: I know about all the new-fangled innovations and patents were getting. Does this constitute as having useful information?

TT: It does.

TT: Tell me about this.

GT: Well...

GT: Bollucks thats a lot to type isnt it?

TT: I have written thousands, maybe even close to a million, lines of code in my short lifetime. Writing a page or two about your company shouldn’t be a challenge.

GT: Its still a lot!

GT: Im not sure if i would explain it right either. Im no wordsmith as you clearly are.

GT: Wouldnt it be easier to speak in person?

TT: Face-to-face?

GT: Of course.

TT: I would rather avoid that. I like my apartment. It’s cozy.

GT: Thats a dumb excuse and it makes no sense.

TT: I disagree.

GT: Stop your nattering you big baby. A meeting at a nice coffee shop in your area would be fine. Im not a picky man.

TT: Are you sure you’re a man at all?

GT: Youre the one making a fuss over a meet up like a teenager.

TT: ...

GT: You live in Houston correct?

TT: The top floor of a skyscraper.

GT: Ooh how amazing! Must be a great view.

TT: And a long fall.

GT: So its somewhere close to the downtown area?

TT: Yeah.

GT: Okay then i can arrange us something.

GT: Lets say thursday?

TT: That’s two days from now.

GT: Yes i have to fly in from galveston so its a bit of a delay sorry about that.

TT: I was actually commenting that it is a very close date. Seems sort of sudden, don’t you think?

GT: The old saying says that theres no time like the present.

TT: I’ve never been fond of that saying.

GT: Cmon it cant be that horrid to haul your ass down to a shop to speak with me.

GT: Stop being an overdramatic dickprince.

TT: Fine.

TT: I’ll make my plans then.

TT: Maybe I should go attend to a few things.

GT: Wait how will we spot one another?

TT: Personally, I don’t remember ever seeing your face before but I don’t need to. Just look for a blond dude with rad shades.

TT: That’ll be me.

TT: I’m going to go. Nice talking to you.

TT: See you on Thursday, Mr. Skaianet.

 

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering golgathosTerror [GT] \--

 

GT: What do you mean by rad shades?

GT: Cant you at least give me your name??

GT: Hello?

GT: Dammit.

GT: Ill shoot you the name of the place later then.

GT: See you on thursday!

 

\-- golgathosTerror  [GT] ceased pestering timaeusTestified  [TT] \--

You wondered how you were supposed to look presentable in a social setting with the owner of a gargantuan company you might be working for soon.

You still weren’t sure if any of this was happening, or if it was a long, elaborate dream.

Although it has been a long while since you have dreamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you notice any parallels that might exist betw33n these pesterlogs and their first conversation, those are intentional.


End file.
